


Losing Side

by QueenbyMoonlight



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Drugs, Eventual Johnlock, F/M, I don't know to be honest, Johnlock - Freeform, Just Roll With It, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Post-His Last Vow, Sherlock is sad, Work In Progress, and very smoll, john is a bit trash, no magnussen, or like during His Last Vow?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:45:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenbyMoonlight/pseuds/QueenbyMoonlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During His Last Vow. Sherlock is contemplating his feelings for John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing Side

           “The Losing Side”

 

_“ ‘Caring is not an advantage’ ”_

 

I shake my head. It does nothing. No matter how much I try to rid the words from my mind, they still endlessly resonate throughout my brain.

 

I suppose Mycroft is right though. Ugh, just admitting that makes me nauseous, but it is true.

 

_“ 'Caring is not an advantage’ ”._

 

I learned that the hard way.

 

John is happy with Mary. Happy to be avoiding me.

Of course, I knew he would leave one day.

Still, it hurts and I am disappointed in myself. With every constant thought of John, his handsome face, his warm smile or his laugh at one of my jokes, how he carries himself with such bravery, how he had killed a man to save my life on the first night we met..

Comes a tug on my heart and a sting at my eyes and I am angry at how I let myself go.

 

I wish I never met him.

 

Perhaps then I wouldn’t be so hopelessly pining for the man I’ve come to…love.

 

Love.

 

A chemical defect found on the losing side.

 

I am on the losing side.

 

I drag myself off the couch where I’ve been laying and pull on an old gray t-shirt and some sweatpants. I grab a jacket and head out the door.

 

When Mrs. Hudson calls out a goodbye to me,

I don’t respond.

 

Instead I focus on ignoring the sadness in her voice and obvious aborted thought of asking me where I’m heading.

 

I hail a cab once I’m out on the street and I get in when it arrives. I tell him my destination and he pushes on the gas pedal, briefly asking if I’m alright.

I don’t reply.

 

Instead, I watch the scenery pass by out the window. It is almost as if the weather is mimicking my mood, although I know that is impossible and incorrect in every way. However, the low grey stratus clouds are somewhat expressing my solemn attitude..

They are full of rain and just near their breaking point.

 

As am I.

 

✳︎

 

The cab arrives at my destination, and I throw cash at the cabbie who in turn throws me a momentarily annoyed look.

I turn to look at him for a few fleeting seconds.

Father of two. He wears two necklaces with the inscription of 'Love you papa’ from a Jemma and Oliver.

Married for...20 years going by the fairly distinct indentation on his ring finger caused by the gold ring on his right hand.

 

I turn and look ahead of me at the rundown shack of a building, the sound of a car speeding away fading behind me. I walk through the familiar entrance, and I am greeted by Billy.

 

“Hey, Shezza.”

 

I stare pointedly at him.

 

“Yeah, I got your fix. You can head up if you want. I’m warning ya though, there’s another dozen in there, so it might be a little..uh..hazy.”

 

I thank him, the first words I’ve spoken in days. I head upstairs and enter the dark room.

 

It is fairly large, and there are used drug instruments littered across the floor.

 

Billy was right. There is a great amount more than usual today.

 

I take in a breath of the musky air and cough into my sleeve.

 

I pick out a mattress at the far right corner and make myself comfortable while waiting for Billy to bring up the heroin.

 

A short wait later, I recognize his quick footsteps jogging up the stairs and in a few minutes he is in front of me, needle marvelously full.

 

“Here you go.” He gives me the narcotic and holds out his hand expectantly.

I give him the correct sum and he leaves, going back to his post at the main entrance.

 

I take the needle and stare at it in my hands.

 

“I said I wouldn’t take this again,” I whisper quietly to myself.

 

The decision comes easier as a picture pops into my head. 

 

I think of John and Mary, together. I think of John kissing her head and murmuring sweet nothings into her ear after he touches her growing belly.

 

I think of them together, a family.

 

Domestic Bliss.

 

I find a vein, and release the drug into my system.


End file.
